When Tears Run Dry
by estrafalaria103
Summary: Voldemort has just been defeated, but not without cost. Characters deal with the aftermath of his death, a new, free world, and loss. DH compliant, canon.
1. Chapter 1

It was a slow walk back down to the Great Hall. Harry felt numb, almost. He wanted to put that cloak back on, to return to being invisible, but was that fair? He couldn't hide for the rest of his life.

"We're with you, Harry," Hermione said comfortingly, putting one hand on his back. He felt a warmth on his other shoulder as well, and looked up into Ron's face.

"Got to face it sometime, mate," he said. Harry sighed, balled the cloak up in his fist, and walked back into the Great Room. Somehow, this was harder than facing Voldemort had been, harder to accepting his own death. Because the noise stopped immediately. For the first time since the battle, everyone was gathered in one place, and Harry Potter was at the other end. He took a deep breath. Should he say something? Was that what everyone was waiting for?

"Hullo," he said, a bit awkwardly. So many sad faces. . .he studiously avoided the side of the room piled high with the bodies, black blankets covering unseeing eyes. There was Neville, grinning at him through the bruises that no one had taken the time to heal, that everpresent faith still brimming. Luna, next to him, eyes dazed and a dreamy smile plastered on her face. The Malfoys, still in their corner. Two sets of parents around Goyle. . .perhaps Crabbe's as well? Dean sat with a group of students at one end of the Hufflepuff table, all of the Muggle-borns who didn't have families with them. And then there were the Weasley's, their bright hair causing them to stand out in the middle of the room.

Most of the Weasley's, anyway. He heard Ron's breath hitch behind him, knew what he was thinking. There were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Fleur, Charlie. There was Percy. There was Ginny, staring at him with all the world in her brown eyes. But George was missing, and Fred was. . .

Neville stood up, the first one. Harry winced, waiting for the inevitable applause. But it never came. Instead he said, quite simply, "Come on, Harry. Sit down and have a bite to eat."

Mrs. Weasley looked up through her tear-stained face and beckoned him over. The three followed, through what was still a frighteningly silent room. And then, a voice, Hannah Abbott's, he thought it was,

"Thank you, Harry."

And another, "Thank you, Harry."

And another, and another. Simple, sweet, nothing much to them. From Susan Bones and Seamus Finnigan, from Cho Chang and Professor Flitwick, from Narcissa Malfoy and even Pansy Patkinson. And then, perhaps more surprisingly, from Lavender Brown,

"Thank you, Ron."

From Cormac MacLaggen. "Thanks, Ron."

From Parvati and Patil, "Thank you, Hermione."

And as they walked through the rows of gratitude, Harry didn't look back at his two best friends. At some point their hands had fallen from his shoulders, and he knew that if he looked back, tears would be coursing down their faces, the same as his.

Mrs. Weasley pulled out a seat and he collapsed into it. Silently, Fleur handed him a plate, heaped high with meats and vegetables. House elves winked in and out, thanked by the wizards, and bowing with a deep respect. His stomach rumbled, and he wondered when had been the last time that he'd eaten. He couldn't even remember food beyond fish from the stream or fungus dutifully boiled by Hermione. But he couldn't eat. Nor, he saw, could any of the Weasleys.

Talk resumed throughout the Great Hall, families reuniting, friends exclaiming over the new freedom from the harsh rules of Hogwarts. A mild disruption occurred when McGonagall abruptly extinguished all of the lamps, during the ensuing silence informing everyone to head to the infirmary so that Madame Pomfrey could see to them. Professor Binns, who apparently had taken the battle as a time to rewrite his class roster, had a list of everyone who had participated in the battle.

"Mrs. Weasley. . .I'm so sorry. . ." Harry finally choked out.

"It's all right," Mr. Weasley said, answering for his wife. She smiled at him, blew her nose on a handkerchief, and said,

"You saved my life, Harry. Why on earth would you be sorry for that?"

"He knew what he was getting himself into," Bill said. "We all did."

As a unit they turned to look, saw George sitting at his dead brother's side, not moving, not doing anything. A tall black girl sat beside him. Harry took a moment to recognize Angelina.

"Mom!" Ginny suddenly exclaimed, her voice filled with a new horror. "Oh, Mom, I almost forgot!"

"What, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice perfunctory.

"What about Teddy?"

And there it was again, that reminder that the victory hadn't come without costs. The words came out of Harry's mouth before he'd even had a chance to think.

"I'll take care of him," he said.

"Don't be silly," Mrs. Weasley retorted. "You're just a boy. You're too young to be taking care of a baby."

"I'm his godfather," he protested.

"Andromeda will care for him," Mrs. Weasley said, in a final sort of tone. "And if she doesn't feel up to it, well. . .we've always room in the Burrow."

Harry nodded his head, relief flooding through him. He would be a good godfather, he thought determinedly, he would. A small hand snaked its way into his, squeezed gently. He looked into Ginny's sadly smiling face.

"I know," she said simply.

* * *

McGonagall watched the scene with an intense feel of pride. These were her students here, her students who had defeated Voldemort. Not those pansies over at the Ministry, not the Aurors with all of their training, but her students. As she looked out at the torn clothes of the students, she felt even prouder to note the number of maroon and gold robes. Gryffindors, at least a third.

But then there were the Ravenclaws, the Hufflepuffs, and even, she noted, a few Slytherins. Filthy house, she thought darkly, her mind turning to Severus and his betrayal. But she could hardly blame those students for it, though her mind seemed to want to return to a certain platinum-haired family.

There had been casualties, of course, and Minerva found it very difficult to forget that. Remus had been a good friend of hers and, though she would never admit it, Fred had been a personal favorite. She looked at the Weasley clan, all looking as miserable as though a war hadn't been won. And that wasn't right, that just wasn't. But how to remedy the situation. . .well, that she simply didn't know.

"Oh, Albus," she whispered. If he were here, he would know what to do, how to bolster spirits and remind people of how much had been accomplished. But he, too, had been a casualty of war.

Perhaps, she thought grimly, sometimes there wasn't a solution. Perhaps grief was necessary. Her eyes lit up suddenly. Grief. . .remorse. . .of _course_. Albus had always insisted that what Tom Riddle had lacked was love, and the capacity for love, but that hadn't been it at all. He'd received love. . .even learned to give it, in his own way. But regret. . .pride. . .those were his downfalls.

That, then, was why ALbus had never been ableto defeat him. They'd shared faults, hadn't they, Minerva thought sardonically. Thank goodness Albus had learned to recognize his, to try and avoid them.

As families began to leave to share the good news with friends and other families back home, as Filch found a new joy in forcing reporters from the Quibbler and the Daily Prophet off grounds, as those few who chose to stay in Hogwarts for the evening began making their way up to the dorms, Minerva smiled. For the first time since Albus had died, she left her lips widen, her teeth peer out. There had been losses, but they had _won_.


	2. Mr Weasley

He shook his head in amazement. The room was easily twice as big as his last office—no, make that five times. Windows lined the walls and there were three desks—not one, but three! He shook his head once more.

"It's yours, friend," Kingsley said warmly, clapping one large, meaty hand on his old friend's back. "You've earned it, certainly."

"B-b-but. . ." Arthur couldn't even force the words out anymore. Never, in his wild imagination, could he have foreseen something like this. The initial promotion and creation of a new position (Ministry Director of Muggle Affairs and Relations) was a shock in itself, but now the office.

"No buts from you, Arthur," Kingsley said amiably, waving a sausage of a finger in front of the other man's face. "I'm Minister of Magic, now, and I say Muggle Relations require a director, and that director requires space. So take it and stop complaining."

"Well, thank you," Arthur said, beaming now from one freckled ear to the other. "Thank you!" Kingsley nodded and walked out the door, leaving Arthur to stare throughout the room in abject wonder. He walked quickly to the fireplace, and threw some powder into it.

"Molly!" he yelled, perhaps a bit louder than necessary. A few wandering wizards peeked in curiously to see what the Wesley man was up to. He, however, was focused on the spluttering green fire. "Molly! Oy! Are you there?"

"Arthur, yes, I'm here," his lovely wife finally responded. Well, maybe not so lovely at the moment, with her hair in disarray and what looked to be a bit of gnome hair on her head. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!" Arthur responded, chuckling merrily. "I got promoted! And I got a new office!"

"Oh, that's lovely, dear," Molly beamed, a bit more life coming back to her cheeks than had been there in the past week. "I'm so proud. . .but listen, did you ask. . ."

"Kingsley agreed to give me the advance, as well," Arthur snowballed over her question. "Said he realized that of course I hadn't been able to work back when. . .when You-Know-Who. . .no, no, when Voldemort, when Voldemort was around. Said he was glad to help. Imagine!"

"Imagine indeed," Molly said, and thesmile became, if anything, a tad wider. "I'll Floo up the whole family, we'll have a celebration dinner. Heaven knows we could use something to celebrate."

Arthur nodded in agreement before stepping back. The minute the fire had winked out, however, the grin disappeared from his face. There was something wrong with that. . .the family needing to find reasons to celebrate when the Darkest Wizard of all time had just been defeated.

He wandered over to his new desk, already with boxes piled high atop it. Slowly, he began to pull out his files and books. When he came to the bottom of the box, his hand trembled. Did he really want to begin all of that? Was he strong enough?

And then, the other voice in his head, _did he really have a choice?_

The first photograph was fine, it was just him and Molly on their wedding day, she all bouncing red curls, his face as red as his hair.

Then there was the picture a few years later, Bill standing proudly in a small suit, Charlie in suspenders, and Percy held tenderly in Molly's arms. As he watched, Charlie solemnly sucked his thumb and Bill crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

The pain hit with the third one. There they all were, Ginny just barely born, a little red blob and not much else. Bill was older now, standing proudly in his school robes, Charlie not much younger beside him. Percy's hair was madly brushed down. There was Ron, playing idly with a teddy bear and refusing to look at the camera no matter how much his mother admonished him. And there they were, playing some kind of hand game together, Fred and George, George and Fred. . .

He quickly put it on the mantle, pulled out the next, all of the family as Egypt. He put that one down quickly, too.

And then he pulled out a third picture, smaller than the rest. He frowned. . .he didn't seem to remember this one. . .

Only three figures in this picture. A bushy-haired young lady, perfectly poised, though occasionally a hand moved self-consciously to her hair, which she pushed out of the way. And then Harry, his hair all mussed, glasses a bit crooked, smiling as Ron nudged him in the side. And Ron, with hair that looked like he'd just come off a broom.

Arthur stared at the picture for a long time. He'd been so caught up in his grief over Fred. . .he hadn't even considered. . .he looked at the picture again.

Hermione still looked the same, almost. A thin white scar across her throat, and bits of shiny skin from burn scars marred her arms. And Harry, with that clear lightning bolt. . .he was different, too, now. The green eyes weren't quite as bright. And Ron. . .

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. Ron had scared him more than any of his other children. Bill, Charlie, and Percy had been easy, growing up as proper, law-abiding citizens. True, Bill was sometimes more secretive about his work then he needed to be, and Charlie had come home with some frightening burns at time, but he'd always felt safe about them. And the twins. . .they were trouble, but they were _safe_. No dangerous calls home. But Ron. . .

The first year he'd heard about Ron, knocked out by a giant chess set. Then the third year, he'd heard about the rat, Scabbers, and Ron was in the hospital again. Ron's fifth year he'd been in the hospital even longer, with doubts about whether he would ever be the same after the attack by the brain. And in sixth year he'd fought a full battle, he'd been poisoned. . .and that was all in _school_.

Had he ever said that to Ron? How proud he was? How amazed he was?

No, of course not. He'd always just assumed his son knew. The newly appointed Director of Muggle Affairs sat down at his desk and for the first time since the war, made a conscious effort to focus his attention on the living, instead of the dead.


	3. Rita Skeeter

**_Thanks for the reviews, y'all, always loved and appreciated. I'm on a role tonight, another chapter right here, and I figured I'd better just post them as they came. This one's a bit more humorous, I don't really know where that came from. Anyway, featuring one of my favorite characters ever from the series, and yes, I'm aware that there is something wrong with me that I love her so much._**

Oh, this was just too delicious. Her monitors had just told her about the newest floo made by Arthur Weasley, newest addition to the Ministry hierarchy. A Weasley reunion, eh? And that was certain to include the newly popular Harry Potter. And she just needed a few more quotes to continue her new biography: _The Boy Who Lived Twice_. And, she figured, after that perhaps an article on the WEasleby's themselves, and then a delightful expose on Mr. Voldemort, and oh, but didn't this career of biographer pay better than her article for the Daily Prophet?

It was a shame, though, that speech Harry Potter had made. She'd almost been done with her expose on Severus Snape, complete with incontrovertible truth of his long alliance with Dark Wizards. His words, only a few days after the Headmaster's Death, had done a good deal to change his face in the wizarding world. But Rita wasn't terribly upset. Within a year or two Harry's words would fade and she would write that story.

That had been the only statement that Potter had made. Clearing Snape's name and reminding everyone of all of the good that Dumbledore had done. Her books sales had gone down after his little diatribe.

Still, she had no rancor. Potter had sold her millions of copies in the past, and was sure to do so again. She just had to figure out a way to get to that Weasley gathering. . .

"Not going to happen."

Rita turned around, her nose held high. She recognized that voice, her greatest competition in the writing world, though she'd always considered him a bit of a loon. Xeno Lovegood.

"_What_ is not going to happen, Mr. Lovegood?" she asked, inserting as much sweetness as she could into her voice.

"An invite to the Weasley's house," he responded, more on top of things than she'd ever heard him. "You're not going to get one, and they have just as many wards on it now as when Voldemort was around and even a Crumple-Horned Snorak couldn't get in there.

"Au contrair, Mr. Lovegood," Rita said. "Voldemort was only an evil Dark Lord. _I_ am Rita Skeeter."

Lovegood raised one thing, blond eyebrow. His creepy bug eyes bugged out even more. Rita shuddered. He really was quite creepy. Still, somehow she managed to paste a happy smile on her face, spin around once with a trilling "ta-da!" and Disapparate on the spot.

Lovegood had been right about one thing, she realized a moment later, dripping wet in the middle of a lake still half a league from the Weaslety's Burrow. There were definitely a lot of spells on the place.

No matter, she said, though her stinking clothes told a different story. She reached into her obnoxiously (beautifully, in her mind) feathered purse and pulled out a few different vials of Polyjuice Potion.

Hmm. . .she thumbed through them. Albus Dumbledore—she tossed that one back in the lake, it certainly wasn't going to do her any good anymore. Barty Crouch. . .another splash from behind her. Nymphadora Tonks. . .dammit, another perfectly good potion, completely gone to waste. Long fingernails continued to dig through the vials.

Hermione Granger. . .why yes, that one would do just fine. Rita's scarlet lips curled into a smile as she unstoppered the vial. The Granger girl would hardly be invited to a family-only gathering, but she certainly wouldn't be turned away if she just showed up. . .

It was the youngest one who opened the door, the girl, what was her name? Jenny or Ginna or something like that. Rita turned on her QuikNames earring, and the name was immediately repeated into her ear. Ginevra "Ginny" Weasley."

"Hermione, hullo," the girl said, starting in surprise. "I didn't know Mum invited you. Come in."

"She didn't," Rita said, trying to sound like the Granger girl. "I just wanted to stop by. Invited me for what?"

"Dad got promoted," Ginny said nonchalantly. "Mum called the whole family together to celebrate. Didn't Ron tell you?"

"Urm. . .no," Rita said. "You know Ron. Always so forgetful."

"Right. . ." Ginny looked up, with what Rita refused to believe was suspicion in her eyes. "Are you feeling all right?"

Now _this_ was the kind of question that Rita knew how to answer. Charm and finesse, that's what it was about.

"No. . ."she said softly, eyes downcast. "Not really. I mean everything's. . .changed, hasn't it?"

And she knew she had the girl there. Ginny patted Rita's shoulder consoling, but was interrupted in whatever she'd been about to say by a loud "GINEVRA WEASLEY! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THE OVEN???"

Rita let out a long held breath as Ginny scampered off. She'd never had such difficulty with Polyjuice before. And that was just one girl!

Before she'd had time to completely gather herself, there was a light pop! Over by the fireplace, followed by the presence of two overgrown boys, one with the signature messy black hair and the other even _more_ signature red hair.

"Hermione!" they both said in one voice, coming over to hug her.

"Didn't you just tell us to go ahead without you?" Harry Potter asked in confusion.

"Yeah, you just couldn't put down _House-elves: a History of Servitude_," Ronald Weasley added.

"Urm. . .yes, it was terribly interesting," Rita said. "Quite possibly one of the most interesting books I'd ever read. But then I realized that I hadn't seen Ginny or. . .erm. . .you mum in a bit, Ron, and I thought I'd drop by."

"Oh, all right," Ron said, shrugging. He sniffed the air, loudly almost. "What's for dinner?"

"How could I possibly know?" Rita asked. "Didn't I just get here, too?"

The two boys shrugged, and walked toward the kitchen, obviously expecting her to follow them. The minute they'd left she opened her bag and took out her Quick Quotes.

"_Invisio_," she said, and the quill instantly disappeared. She followed into the kitchen.

But, as it turned out, Lovegood hadn't been joking about the amount of security on the place. As Rita entered the kitchen a strange itching took over her entire body. She looked down at herself. What had happened to her breasts?

"What are _you_ doing here?" that insolent little Ginny Weasley asked. Rita smiled. She put a hand to her face. To. . .her face. Not that Granger face anymore.

"Why, I can't imagine how I got here. . ." she said, putting a hand to her head. The two boys exchanged glances.

"Yeah, well, I can sure imagine you getting _out_," Ronald said, before point a wand at her. Not willing to take chances, Rita spun on her heel and Disapparated. . .

Only to land in the lake again. Really, she thought angrily. Some people had absolutely no tact. That was _definitely_ going into the biography.


	4. Ginny Weasley

The first night had been bad. She'd lain there, in the girls dormitory in Gryffindor, her mother across from her, Hermione on the other side. Her father sad in the chair, Percy paced all night, and George moaned.

The second night had been worse. They'd been in the Burrow again, and it had been silent. The Burrow was never silent.

The third night was a little better. Harry stopped by, and they went for a walk. He held her hand, she kissed his cheek.

The fourth night was the worst. After a loud bang they'd all run downstairs, only to see George lying on the couch, the fireplace blown out.

The fifth night Ron sat on her bed, and told her everything that had happened.

The sixth night her dad had gotten promoted and Rita Skeeter had tried to sneak in to the family dinner.

"I can't believe she'd do that," Harry said disbelievingly as they'd all sat down to dinner. "I mean, I always knew she was a bit off, but really."

"She's completely nutters is what she is," Ron said through a mouthful of potatoes. "Pass the chicken, wouldja, mate?"

"I thought there was something off," Ginny said as she handed her brother the bird. "I mean, it wouldn't be so strange for Hermione to come, but to come without you two."

"Or just without Ron," George said with a smirk.

"Shut it," Ron ordered, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Mum glared at George. Dad slipped a note to Ron. And I was just happy to see the smile on Harry's face.

"Let's all have a toast for your father, now," Mrs. Weasley said. Fleur's face lit up, and she began bouncing up and down almost excitedly. Bill put a steadying hand on his wife's arm, and raised his goblet.

"To Dad, the best Muggle Director ever," he said.

"To Dad," all of the Weasley's (and Harry, of course) said, raising their own. The moment that the goblets were down again, Fleur leapt to her feet.

"Bill and I, ve 'ave some news," she announced. Mrs. Weasley smiled at her, a genuinely kind smile. Ginny realized with a start that she felt the same way. Fleur was a part of the family, no longer a source of annoyance. She was, as strange as it seemed to say, a Weasley.

"We're pregnant," Bill said, and the entire house erupted.

Ginny was smiling, too, going along with motions, clapping her hands, even jumping up and down a time or two. And she was happy, she _was_, and if she just kept saying that, thinking it, it would be true.

Except that other questions kept streaming through her head, most of all

What now?

What now?

What now?

She could feel a strange prickling from her side, and when she turned, she wasn't surprised to see Harry Potter's green eyes drilling into her. He jerked his head toward the door, as if asking her to leave. She glanced at her family again, at all of the older Weasley's gathered around Bill, at the tears in her mother's eyes, at how Fleur was practically glowing with pride and Ron was hugging their father tight, tears streaming out of his eyes.

"I still feel like I'm suffocating sometimes," Harry said, sounding a little apologetic. "Even with your family."

"Yeah, I know," Ginny said. "Me, too."

She bit her lip after she said that. She could already hear his answer—why should _she_ feel suffocated, they were her family, she hadn't been out searching for Horcruxes, she hadn't battled Voldemort. .but he didn't say anything, and Ginny thought her heart might explode from love.

"I know that what you went through was a hundred times harder than anything at Hogwarts," she said lowly. "But. . .it was hard, Harry, it was so hard. It wasn't _good_ anymore, and I don't want to go back, but I don't know what else to do."

And suddenly, inexplicably, Harry was laughing, and Ginny felt her own lips twitching into a smile to laugh. She didn't know why, but a moment later they were both laughing, leaning in to each other's arms, shaking with mirth.

"I never thought of that!" Harry gasped, tears leaking out of his eyes. He clutched his stomach hard, as though it heart. "I never graduated. We never took the NEWTS. Imagine what Hermione will do when she realizes that!"

"Harry," Ginny managed between giggles. "You realize we'll be in the same year now?"

"You realize now that Neville will be finished schooling before Hermione?"

They collapsed onto the ground, the soft, green grass of the magically maintained lawn cushioned their fall. "Is that what we do now?" Ginny asked, her hand reaching out and clutching Harry's. "Go back to Hogwarts? Take our NEWTS? Be normal?"

"I guess," Harry sighed, and squeezed her hand gently. "I don't really know what else there is."

"It will be weird, though," Ginny said. "To go back there. It won't ever be the same, will it?"

"Nothing will be," Harry said softly. He rolled onto his side, perched up on one elbow, and stared down at her. Ginny's lips kept twitching up at bit, trying to reach a smile, but never quite there. "Ginny. . ." he said softly.

"Shut up, Harry," she said. "Harry Potter, just for once in your life, shut up."

And then she leaned up a kissed him.


	5. Neville Longbottom

**_Thanks for all the hits and reviews? Always appreciated! I just figured. . .whoa, JK, 19 years is a loooong time for an epilogue, so let's see where these characters are right now! I can tell you right now that I'm not going all the way to 19 years. I figure I'll stop either with a wedding or a kid. Or maybe just after a year. Only time will tell! Let me know if there's a particular character you'd like a vignette on, though I'm sure you can see that there is a bit of an advancing plot going on._**

**_Poor Neville. He really got shafted in this last book, didn't he?_**

Grams was proud of him. It was unbelievable. He'd never thought the day would come when his Grams was proud of him. She was downstairs at that very moment, cooking him dinner.

He'd passed the NEWTS, too. Well, some of them anyway. Unbelievable as well, as much because he'd been living through that horrible time and unable to study as because it was difficult.

He stared at his face in the mirror. Somedays he didn't even recognize himself when he looked. His face was leaner now, scarred in places, though at least the bruises had finally faded. But it was mostly his eyes, he thought. They weren't bewildered anymore—there was a confidence that he was fairly certain had never been there before.

But, as his Gran called him and he turned to face her, his elbow his the Rememball which fell and rolled across the floor. As he looked at it, he promptly hit the corner of the desk and careened into the door.

Well, maybe he was confident, but he was definitely still clumsy.

"NEVILLE!" Gran yelled again. "There's a young lady waiting to see you and you really shouldn't be keeping her waiting!"

"Coming!" Neville responded as he limped out of his room. He couldn't imagine who would come to see him. At the feast plenty of girls had wanted to talk to him, but he didn't think any of them knew where he lived.

"—hat. It reminds me of the Lundelows. Have you ever seen a Lundelow?"

Without even seeing the holder of the voice, Neville's face split into a broad grin. He picked up his pace a bit, skidded around the corner. Gran would frown at him for scuffing up the floor, but he could live with that.

"Luna!" he said, arms spread wide. The blonde girl smiled back at him, or rather, at a blank spot slightly above his head.

"Hullo, Neville!" she said brightly. "I was just telling your aunt about how her hat reminds me of the Lundelows. Actually, of a Lundelow nest, because Lundelows, of course, look more like—"

"Look, Luna," Neville said, laughing gently. "Why don't I—er—give you a tour of the place?" He could see the steam beginning to come out of Gran's ears, and he knew where that could lead to.

"Sure," Luna agreed. She smiled up at him as she came to stand next to him.

Neville wasn'tquite sure what to show her. They didn't exactly live in a mansion. But he took her to the garden out back. He thought she might like to see that, with all of the bright colored flowers and the butterflies.

"So, Neville, what will you be doing now?"

"Now that the war is over?" he asked.

"No."

"Now that we've finished school?"

"No."

"Well, I don't know," Neville said, confused not only by what she was talking about, but also was he was going to do. "What about you?" he asked, desperate for some kind of a clue.

"Oh, I suppose that I'll work for the Ministry. They need to set up a new line of Aurors," Luna said. "Mr. Kingsley said that he particularly liked my patronus."

"You're going to be an Auror?" Neville asked, unable to believe that dreamy Luna was going to make a living hunting down dark wizards. She giggled a little, that light, happy sound of hummingbirds.

"Of course not!" she said. "I'm going to train them."

"Oh," Neville nodded his head. He sat down on a stone bench in the middle of the garden. Luna Lovegood, training Aurors. And Neville Longbottom. . .Neville Longbottom,what? According to the Daily Prophet it was Neville Longbottom, hero of the Wizarding World, defeater of Nagini, and leader of the Hogwarts Rebellion. But that wasn't true, and he knew it, and so did most of the students. It was Ginny Weasley who had started the rebellion and he'd joined because, well, not much of a secret was it, anyway, he fancied her.

And as for Nagini, well, he hadn't meant to do that, either. It was just that Harry was lying there, and Ginny was crying. . .he couldn't stand there and watch her cry, he just couldn't do it. So he'd stepped forward, and while he was out there

But now what was he going to do. Luna knew where she was headed, Luna Lovegood knew what she was doing, and he hadn't the slightest idea.

"Oh, look!" Luna said suddenly, pointing up to a dark speck in the sky. "A Windermole!"

But when Neville followed the line of her finger, all that he could see was an owl. A very big owl, granted, but still just an owl. He let out the worried sigh he'd just realized he was holding. Of course. It had only been a week, and already he'd found that he'd need to readjust to being around Luna.

The owl, unfortunately, did not have the time to readjust to Luna, and hooted curiously at the waving girl as it dropped a letter into Neville's waiting hand. It actually paused for a moment, mid-flight, to stare at the girl, as if unable to accept that a young witch would actually wave at an owl.

While Luna was otherwise occupied, Neville turned the letter over in his hands, wondering who would have sent it. There was no writing on the outside, just his name, no clue to who could have sent it.

Trembling, he ripped it open, more excited and nervous than he could remember being. The letter drifted free of the envelope and slowly floated to the ground. He tracked its progress, and blinked when a thin white hand snatched it out of the air before it reached the ground.

"_Dear Mr. Longbottom," _Luna read. She smiled, not seeming to realize that the letter wasn't directed to her, no matter the salutation. "_As an exceptionally promising member of our growing body of alumni, I am writing to inform you of a vacancy that has recently arisen among the staff at Hogwarts. Our current professor, the much esteemed Batinah Sprout, is looking to retire in five years, and would like to begin immediately phasing out her course load, beginning with the incoming first years, so that in five years her successor will be capable of teaching all classes and will prove as knowledgeable in the subject matter as herself._

_This, and the subsequent rise of myself, Professor Minevra McGonagall, has created a dramatic need or a new Herbology Professor, as well as a new Head of Gryffindor. Due to your previous demonstrations of academic excellence and the courage you have shown in the face of recent trials, I would like to extend to you the privileged opportunity to interview for this post._

_I dearly hope that you will consider us as you look toward a future career._

_Most Sincerely,_

_Minerva M. McGonagall_

_P.S. Neville, dear, don't let Luna leave without giving you the small package that she is holding within her purse."_

Luna frowned, and delicately folded the letter up. Neville was still blinking in shock. She turned to him, still frowning. "Neville," she said slowly. "I do believe that this letter might have been directed to you, and not to me." She handed him the letter.

Neville grasped it, still unable to believe. Him? A professor at Hogwarts? And head of Gryffindor? Him? Neville Longbottom?

He couldn't do that, not possibly. Not be a professor, not even of Herbology, always his best subject. And yet. . .and yet Hogwarts had always been the one place that he felt at home, where he was able to shine. Even in the last year, with the war and the running, with the Carrows dogging him at every step and Snape turning a blind eye (he still couldn't accept that the git had been doing good, no matter what Harry said).

"Will you do it?" Luna asked. Neville swallowed. He was nodding, and he hadn't even realized it. The frown left Luna's face, and she quickly engulfed him in a large hug. "That's lovely!" she exclaimed. "We'll both be teachers!"

When she let him go, Neville let out a long sigh. The blonde hair was different than the red hair he'd always hoped to embrace. The arms were a bit thinner. But that lavender scent had an allure all of its own. . .

"Well, I'd best be getting home," Luna said chipperly. "I told Father I was picking blackberries, and he'll wonder where I've gotten off to. He's been dreadfully protective ever since Voldemort captured me."

Neville was about to let her walk away when he remembered what McGonagall's letter had said. He reached out and grasped her upper arm.

"Luna, wait!" he said, but when she turned o face him he found his tongue stuck in his mouth, unable to form the words. "Do you—erm—that is—d'you reckon you might. . ."

"Oh, that's right!" Luna said brightly. Reaching into her purse (more a small suitcase than anything else, in Neville's mind) she pulled out a hastily wrapped package and handed it to him. "This is from Harry. I just saw him yesterday, at the Burrow, and mentioned I'd come here. See you later, Neville!"

And this time she did skip away. As she left, Neville noted with some distraction that she was wearing two different pairs of socks.

He opened the package slowly, not exactly sure what he would find. A note covered whatever was inside the package.

_Hi, Neville,_

_I hear you might be teaching at Hogwarts next year. Smashing! It looks like Ron, Hermione and I will be back there, too. . .but taking classes! We never did take our NEWTS or anything. . .Hermione's positively green over it, and I reckon Ron's not too pleased._

_Anyway, I have this tiny favor to ask, since you'll be a professor and all, and have more freedom than us lowly students. See, there's this wand, and it needs to go in Dumbledore's tomb. You can't speak a word to anyone, Neville. I'd come see you myself, but Mrs. Weasley won't let any of us out the door._

_Thanks, Neville, knew I could count on you! See you in the fall, right, mate?_

_-Harry_

Neville's eyes were wide as he pulled the simple wand out of the package. A wand? To be buried with Dumbledore? He had no idea what that meant. Shrugging, he placed the wand back inside, and tied the package up.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time he had to do something strange because of a friendship with Harry.


	6. Hermione Granger

Well that simply wouldn't do. Hermione frowned, staring in the mirror. Or, rather, staring _at_ the mirror, as her unfocused eyes didn't actually see the reflection. How could she have forgotten such a fact? Such an incredibly important, unforgettable fact?

"Hermione! Hurry up!" Harry was pounding on the door. "Mrs. Weasley said we could go to Hogsmeade, supposing we're back in an hour. Don't waste our hour!"

"Wha—oh, yes," Hermione said. She actually looked at herself, and shrugged. Same old Hermione, bushy hair and all. The war didn't change everything, she thought, though one hand did stray toward the pearly scar on her neck.

She opened the door, and Harry nearly fell in, one hand raised, presumably to knock again. She smiled at him and glanced over his shoulder, looking for one of two everpresent redheads, but there was nobody behind Harry.

"Where's Ron?" she asked, and before Harry had a chance to smirk knowingly, "and Ginny?"

"They're downstairs," Harry said. "Ron's in the kitchen, packing up food." Hermione raised her eyebrows. Packing food for a one hour trip?

As they walked downstairs, Hermione considered how to tell her friends the news. Specifically that she wouldn't be able to go with them to Hogsmeade, and more specifically, that she didn't know exactly when she'd be coming back.

Sure enough, there in the kitchen was Ron, apparently trying to pack every bit of food present into a satchel. Ginny was watching him, arms crossed, an amused look on her pretty face. Harry coughed conspicuously, and Ron looked up, a red flush spreading across his face as he did so.

"Oh, hey," he said, immediately tossing the satchel over his shoulder. "Ready to go?"

"Really, Ron," Hermione said. "Do you need to pack all of that food? It's only going to be an hour." Well, for them, that was. She wasn't quite sure how long she'd be out for.

"Right, erm, about that," Ron said with an almost guilty look now. "Listen. . .Hermione, I need to talk to you about something."

"Talk when we're in Hogsmeade," Harry said, and his words cut through the pleasant buzz of emotion that had built up in Hermione at her friends words. "Come on, now, grab me, you all can Side Along and that way we'll all end up in the same place."

Hermione laid her hand on Harry's shoulder, as Ron and Ginny did the same. Harry grinned, spun, a dizzy flurry of motion, and Hermione found herself in the center street of Hogsmeade, right in front of the Three Broomsticks.

"Wicked," Ron whispered approvingly. "Good job, Harry."

"There," Harry said. He grabbed Ginny's hand and pulled her toward the Three Broomsticks. "Now you two can talk. We'll be in there."

This, Hermione realized, was going to make her task a bit easier. She could tell Ron what she was planning to do, and he could break the news to Harry and the rest of the Weasleys. That would be infinitely easier.

"Hermione, I was thinking," Ron said, and the way his face was screwed up had to mean that he hadn't been thinking anything good. Hermione froze, and that excited ball of emotion in the pit of her stomach suddenly stopped whirling. Of course, she thought bitterly. It was just the excitement of the moment. Just a kiss in the midst of death, a way to say I love you to a friend. She'd been silly, thinking it had been more. She should have figured it out, the way things had gone back to normal after the battle. She'd been giving him time, thinking he needed to cope with his grief.

"Hermione?" Ron was staring at her intently, and she realized with a start that she hadn't heard a thing she'd said. She could feel warmth in her face, knew it was that dratted ugly blush that made her hair look crazier than ever.

"Sorry, Ron, I don't know where I was. What did you just say?"

Ron bit the inside of his cheek, whether in amusement or nervousness she didn't know.

"Look, Hermione, I'm not heading back to the Burrow after this and I. . .I don't think you should, either."

Her mouth was hanging open. That was hardly dignified. With a snap she closed it, though she knew her eyes were still bugging out of her head. "What in heaven's name are you talking about, Ronald Weasley?"

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Hermione, I know that you've been trying to be supportive, and I appreciate it, really, I do, and Mum does, too, it's just. . ."

"Just what, Ronald?" she asked, tapping her foot now. The ball was back, but it was an angry ball now. She was casually considering what hex to send at him when he told her to get out of his house.

"It's just that your parents are still in Australia and they don't remember anything and you should go to them," he said, the words all coming out in a rush. He stared fixedly at the ground.

One moment she was considering whether a Bat Bogey hex would be too much, and the next her arms were around her neck, and his were wrapped around her waist. "Oh, Ron!" she breathed, and planted a fierce kiss on the side of her mouth.

"You're not mad at me?" he asked, disbelieving, and she thought she felt the pressure of his lips on the top of her head. She drew back a moment, and peered into the long-nosed, freckled face.

"Ron, I was going to tell you that today," she said softly. "That I had to leave for a bit, to go find my parents. I mean, I need to stop in the bookshop for a moment to look up the counter-spell to the memory charm that I put on them, but then I was going to Apparate straight to Australia. I do hope that it isn't too difficult to retract the charm, though I suppose it will be difficult for them either way. After all, an entire year, oh my. I hadn't really prepared for that, they might have lost their jobs. . ."

"Hermione, you're rambling," Ron said. "Come on, no need to wait around. I left a note for Mum—easier than talking to her, she'd probably put a full Body Bind on me or something—and I packed plenty of food, we should be all right."

Hermione nodded, and hurriedly wiped a sleeve across her eyes, which were rapidly filling with tears. Luckily, Ron didn't seem to notice as he grabbed his hands in hers.

"You know," he said musingly. "I've never been to Australia before."


	7. Draco Malfoy

He didn't want to go to the memorial, but his mother made him. She'd said that it was very important to "change their image" and to assure everyone that they were no longer with the Dark Lord.

He was gone. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could finally be named and he was gone. Draco took in a deep breath. He let it out. There was a lightness to his chest. Breath in, breath out. He could walk down the hallways in his house without that dark sadness.

But that didn't mean that he wanted to go to the memorial. He knew who would be there, what people would be saying. They'd all be mourning the other ones: the Weasley twin, the werewolf, Tonks. . .but there wouldn't be anyone mourning his side. Nobody mourning Bellatrix or Fenrir or. . .or. . .

Or Crabbe.

But his mother was making him go, so he put on the dress robes. What with his father being in Azkaban and the sudden loss of all fortunes when the Ministry took everything belonging to Death Eaters and redistributed the wealth to those who had lost homes in the war, Narcissa Malfoy was a mess. In a way, Draco liked it. In a way, he was glad that the Dark Lord had lost and that his father was in Azkaban. No more expectations on him.

"Draco!" He'd heard the yelling that night, as he was wandering the halls. He was terrified. He'd lost sight of Goyle, and a Death Eater had cornered him. Just when he thought he was a goner, somebody jinxed the other man, and a moment later Draco felt a solid fist connect with his face and Weasley's mocking yell. "Draco!" the call again, fainter this time, as thought dying away. He'd chased it down.

They were together, his Mother and Father, down in the dungeons. Mother had been a mess, covered in dirt with a ripped gown and her hair in disarray. Even his father had been out of sorts. They'd just been standing there, yelling his name.

Then, when everyone was gathered in the Great Hall, they'd sat with him. Nobody said anything. What could be said? Everyone else was celebrating except for the Malfoys, who looked forward to nothing but prison. Except that Potter had spoken on behalf of his mother at the trial, and nobody wanted to sentence Draco.

"Are you ready yet?" Narcissa asked, tapping delicately at Draco's door. Sighing, he nodded his head, and pulled his color tight. They had to use Floo Powder to get to the ceremony. Such a lowborn way to travel, but that was all that was left to them.

The memorial was just as tawdry as Draco had expected. Rows upon rows of witches and wizards, almost all dressed in black (an orange butterfly was bobbing in the front row that Draco assumed was Looney) and almost all crying. A crowd of redheads signaled the presence of the Weasel clan, up at the front. With a sinking feeling, Draco watched his mother head straight toward them.

He tried to keep his head down as he hurried after her, but the trademark platinum Malfoy hair gave him away. He could hear people mumbling as he walked by.

"What are _they_ doing here?"

"Filthy Death Eaters."

"They should go to Azkaban, where they belong."

His mother walked with a stiff back and a raised chin, but she trembled slightly. Draco knew that he should emulate her posture and demonstrate that, even in the face of adversity, the pure blood ran strong. Instead, he felt his chin dipping more and more toward his chest.

They slid in to two empty seats behind the Weasel family—two of very few open seats anywhere on the Hogwarts parade ground. When they were safely seated, Draco raised his eyes.

He was sitting right behind _him_. The messy black hair was impossible to mistake. Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Die. And next to him the little Weasel chit, and on the other side the two-tall one. And, of course, the Mudblood.

His mother, unbelievably, leaned forward and poked Mrs. Weasel in the shoulder. The red-haired woman turned around, her eyes wide with surprise.

"I am very sorry for your loss," Narcissa said with a tight, controlled voice.

"Yes, well," Mrs. Weasel seemed a little flustered, and she bobbed her head a few times before facing forward again.

Draco, meanwhile, was reading the names of the headstones. Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey. . .his eyes scanned over a few dozen other names. Where was Crabbe?

The speakers began, then, first Kingsley Shacklebolt with a whole spiel on sacrifice, McGonagall on the whole theme of courage, Slughorn speaking of the children. And then George Weasley stood up and everyone became quiet.

"I think what gets me the most," George said slowly, and even Draco was listening now, because if anyone knew about loss, it was the Weasel twin. And, despite the fact that he would never, under any circumstances (except, perhaps, for the Cruciatus Curse) would Draco admit it, he'd always liked the twins. He was fairly certain that everyone at Hogwarts, past or present, did.

"Is how sad we are." He looked down for a moment, and almost contradictory to his words there was a tear in his eye. "We have accomplished great things," he said after a moment. "And these people we remember today helped us to complete them. We should be rejoicing, but we're crying. Does that make sense? These are the people who celebrated life. D'you all think Tonks would be sitting around here, crying, if she were alive? She'd be rejoicing that her son would grow up in a free world. Would Colin be upset? He'd be hugging his brother and jumping up and down. Fred would be. . .he'd be. . ." here he had to pause for a moment. He wiped his eyes, and then gave a shuddering laugh.

"Guess I'm a bit of a hypocrite up here," he said, and laughed hollowly. He took a deep breath and looked up again, and his face was pale but strong. Draco felt his lips pull into a snarl. Maybe the Weasel didn't know about loss after all. He had, after all, only lost a brother. He hadn't lost a father, a name, a _home_. He hadn't had to live in the same house as The Dark Lord, afraid to walk outside, afraid to come home during breaks and afraid to behave out of line at school. He hadn't lost all sense of power. He'd only lost a brother.

"What I'm trying to say," George said. "Is that we should celebrate these lives, not mourn them. They wouldn't want that." He opened his mouth again, and seemed unable to say whatever words were pushing through. He shrugged, smiled, and said "I guess that's all."

There was no applause as George got down from the podium, but Draco was fairly certain he was the only dry-eyed wizard (except perhaps for his mother, but Narcissa was turned from him in strict profile so that he couldn't tell.) He was fuming at this point. _This was the winning side_, he thought. They had no right to be disappointed, sad, torn. . .no right!

And when Harry Potter stood up he lost it, that this one boy, the one _stupid_ boy was going to tell him things that he knew better than anyone. Before Potter had even gotten to the podium Draco had leapt up in his seat.

"Sit down, Potter," he snarled. The Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Die turned to look at him, green eyes wide in surprise. The Weasley's spun around in their seats. He could feel the eyes of every witch and wizard swivel to look at him.

"Sit down," Draco said again. "What can you tell us that we don't know? About your sacrifice? About your heroism?" With a feeling of dread, Draco recognized the tears filling his eyes and throat. Have to finish this quickly, then.

"How about this for sacrifice?" he asked. "Having the damn Dark Lord eating at your breakfast table. Having your father shut up in Azkaban for a crime that he had no choice but to commit. Do you know what that's like, to have to do things you hate, that anyone would hate, because He made you? And what about the missing graves."

He pointed at the place where he thought Crabbe should be, and even, for that matter, Bellatrix. She'd been crazy, but not terrible for all that. She'd given him sweets, sometimes.

"They were people, too," Draco said. "Crabbe? Crabbe was a person, too, he was a student. And all of them. . .they were. . .they were. . ." and there they were now, damn tears, and if he didn't get out soon they'd all see, and purebloods didn't cry, Father said, purebloods didn't cry.

"So sit down, Potter," Draco said one more time. "Just sit down." He abruptly turned on his heels, scrambled over his mother, and hurried out of the gathering. He kept his head down again, trying to hide behind two-long hair.

When he'd finally gotten away, so that the murmurs of the witches and wizards didn't reach him, he sank down behind a tree. He looked up, squinted into the sun, and tried to force down the tears.

"Draco?" a voice said, and if Potter's was the voice he most didn't want to hear, this one was a close second. "Draco, I'm so sorry. None of us thought. . ."

There was too much change. The world turned upside down from the way things had been, and Draco couldn't take it anymore, he just couldn't deal. Everything couldn't change so abruptly, his best friend gone, his Master gone, his Father gone, and now this Mudblood trying to make nice.

"Shut it, Granger," he said harshly. But he turned to look. There she was, ugly bushy hair and all, and behind her Potter and the Weasel. They all looked sad, pathetically so.

"We just want to—" Granger spread her hands wide, a helpless look on her face.

"To finish a sentence, maybe?" Draco asked, pulling himself to his feet. "I should have known something so simple would be possible even for a filthy Mudblood."

And pow! Draco felt stars collide into his vision as a fist pounded into his face. Distantly he heard "Ron!" and the sound of retreating footsteps, with a muffled "He deserved it, the slimy git, I don't care how pathetic his life is."

When Draco opened his eyes again (now from a new position laid out flat on the ground, a rising bruise on his right cheek) he looked up into disgusted green eyes.

"Some things never change," Potter said, almost sadly, before turning to walk away. And strangely, inexplicably, a smile formed on Draco's face.

That was right. Some things never changed.


	8. Charlie Weasley

What was he supposed to do now? Pack up his bags and go back to Romania? Act like nothing had happened? Back there, with his peers and his dragons, nothing had. He'd warned them, sure, even gotten the permission to bring the dragons to the battle. But when it had happened it had been so fast, his father's Patronus appearing and then him Apparating as close to Hogwarts as he dared, as quickly as he did.

In a war like that, there wasn't always time to marshal the troops.

But still, as fast as he'd come, he'd been the last one to arrive. He'd hurried straight into battle, wondering how the rest of his family was, if they were even still alive. As he fought through the hexes and curses, he'd caught a glimpse of red hair here, a glimpse there. Ron had shot past him at one point with Hermione at his side. They didn't look like they were running away, but rather toward something. . .but there was no time to ask as Dolohov walked around the corner.

He saw his mother, once, hair tied back in a kerchief, skirts in one hand, dueling with a young Death Eater, a grimace on her face. Ginny had darted out of what looked like a solid wall, waved her hand merrily, and then headed toward the melee. He'd fought beside Bill when he finally found him, and could have sworn he'd seen Percy even.

But the fact remained that he was the last one—after Ginny, the baby, after the twins, after Mum, even after Ronnie. He was the last one.

And nobody had said a word to him. He was the forgotten Weasley, in a way, though most people wouldn't have thought it. He'd been prefect (but then, so had Bill, Percy, and Ron) and he'd been Quidditch captain. And now he lived in Romania, and people forgot to tell him that there was a war going on, and by the time he'd arrived his brother was dead.

So now what did he do? Did he go back to Romania, back to where things made sense and he had a job that he loved? That didn't seem right, somehow. But then again, what was he supposed to do here?

They walked away from the memorial service in pairs, Mum and Dad out front, followed by Bill and Fleur. Percy walked next to George, his arm around his younger brother's shoulders, followed by Ron and Hermione and Harry and Ginny. And then there was Charlie. Forgotten.

A few people waved to him as he walked out, reminding him that he wasn't invisible. Oliver Wood, with a bright smile on his face, pointing at the Puddlemere United logo on his jumper. Little Professor Flitwick, always his favorite teacher at Hogwarts. A trio of girls that he didn't think he'd ever seen in his life.

"Come on, Charlie," Ginny said impatiently. He took his eyes off the ground and looked to his family, all of whom were grasping one end of a tattered boot. "Portkey waits for no man."

"Coming," Charlie said, forcing a smile onto his face. He grasped part of the shoelace and in a spin, dip, and dive found himself standing in front of the Burrow again.

"Well," his mum said, briskly brushing her hands together. "I'd best be whipping up some lunch, then," and she toddled off to the kitchen.

"Excellent," Ron muttered under his breath, earning him a swift jab in the side by one of Hermione's pointy elbows. The two of them had disappeared a few days ago, leaving behind just a very vague note from Ron—sometimes about Australia and a man named Wendell—sending Molly into an absolute tizzy. They'd returned a few hours later, luckily—just an hour before she'd decided to call the Ministry of Magic and let them know that You-Know-Who must be back and that he'd kidnapped her youngest son.

"It's a beautiful day out," Harry said, a small smile dancing on his lips. Ginny looked up at him and matched the smile.

"Perfect day for Quidditch, wouldn't you say?" she asked innocently.

"Not the right number of people," George said quietly, and the mood deflated. He was right, after all. The Weasleys plus Potter had always worked perfectly before, with four people a side.

"Um. . .I. . .I could play," Hermione said softly. "I mean, if you need me to."

Ron turned to look at her incredulously. He snorted, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"That would be great," Charlie said, rushing to fill the empty silence. He liked Hermione, and he'd love to see her become a Weasley by law some day, but sometimes he honestly thought Ronnie was out to sabotage himself. "Harry and I will seek, George and Percy beat, Ginny and Bill Chase, and we'll put Ron and Hermione on goal. How does that sound?"

Everyone agreed, and they split the teams up (making sure, of course, that Percy and Hermione were on different teams).

A slight pang burst through Charlie's chest as they took their positions on the field. He saw Percy across from him, holding awkwardly to the broom, a thoroughly uncomfortable look on his face. _That should have been Fred_. The thought flew through his mind, but he brushed it away. As they played, though, the though kept running through his head that he wouldn't be the forgotten Weasley anymore, and he hated himself for thinking it.

"Come on, Charlie," Ginny encouraged, flying low below him. "Get your head in the game! Harry's going to have that snitch before you even spot it if you keep going on like this!"

And then she was zipping off, a flurry of red hair. When had she grown up, he wondered.

There it was, gleaming out the corner of his eyes, a tiny, battered speck of gold. Harry must have seen it at the same time, for they were both zooming across the field together. It was closer, closer. . .he stretched out one hand, his fingers just brushing it. . .

And then there it was, in his hand, and he remembered once again why people had claimed he was one of the best Seekers ever. He had, after all, just beaten Harry Potter!

The entire family coasted to the ground, congratulating one another on a well-played game. Harry and Ginny stuck out tongues at one another, but other than that it was a flurry of hugs and congratulations as they trooped into the house.

Hermione, after giving Ron a gentle peck on the cheek, lagged behind. Surprised, Charlie glanced at her.

"Yes?" he asked. She squirmed almost uncomfortably, and Charlie felt another pang in his chest. It was hard, sometimes, to recognize how young the kids were. They really were just kids, they hadn't even left Hogwarts yet. They were hailed as heroes all of the time, faces in print, already going into history books, but as he looked down at her he saw a seventeen year old girl.

"I have a message for you from the Headmistress," Hermione said. She flushed a bit under his gaze. "All right, so it's not actually a message from the Headmistress, but I'm sure that it will be in a few days, and since I heard you speaking to your mother about returning to Romania I thought that I should tell you about it first and let you make the decision. It just seems as though, after everything, you would want to—"

She kept talking, but Charlie lost track of the conversation and just stared at her in amazement. He'd heard, of course, about the famous bickering matches between the girl and his brother, and how they could talk over one another and steamroll through. And Ronnie himself had mentioned how when she caught hold of an idea she ran with it until she'd sorted through every thought. But none of that had prepared him for this kind of rapid speaking.

"and Hagrid will be the Groundskeeper still, of course, but he'll also be taking over Filch's job, so of course he won't have time to teach Care of Magical Creatures, so Professor McGonagall was thinking about offering the position to you."

That part did catch his ear. And his feet, apparently, as he stopped dead in his tracks. Him? A Hogwarts professor? It was absurd. Weasley's were known for many things, but never especially for a love for academia (well, except for Percy, maybe, but sometimes you just couldn't count him.) And yet. . .Hogwarts, a chance to stay near the family, a job that maybe didn't involve quite as many trips to the hospital. It wasn't a bad idea.

"Thanks for telling me, Hermione," he said, clapping her on the shoulder. A small smile wound it's way across her face, and for a fleeting moment she looked pretty. Maybe that was what Ronnie found so appealing in her, Charlie thought. "That's definitely something for me to consider."

She nodded her head, and wandered into the house. Charlie took another moment, though, staring down at the lake, at the garden, at the Quidditch field. When he'd left the house, Ginny had been a baby, Ronnie not much older. Now they'd defeated the Dark Lord. He chuckled a little, letting it run into a full-bellied laugh.

Charlie Weasley walked into the Burrow, his shoulders still shaking. The echo of his laugh drifted through the garden to the lake, and rippled across the water. It was the first true laugh that the land had heard in a very long time.


	9. Minerva McGonagall

**_So I felt really bad for all of the professors. . .do they have lives outside of classes? What do they DO with themselves? Well. . .here's one idea!!_**

Minerva nodded her head as she stared down the newly straightened hall, brushed her hands together and pursed her lips. As good as new, or at least as good as old Hogwarts. She wanted to stand and stare at her renovation, but knew, with a heavy heart, that she'd better be moving on to the next part.

Fifteen hallways down which meant. . .which meant she didn't even know how many more to go. After decades upon decades spent within the stony old walls, she still wasn't completely certain as to how many hallways or staircases there were.

She looked down the next hallway, paused for a moment. Did she really want to do this right now? _Could _she even do it? Her wrist was tired and, truth be told, so was her heart.

"Now, now, Ms. McGonagee," Sir Cadogen said from his painting across the way. "Don't tell me you're giving up?"

"Not giving up, Sir Cadogen," she responded, a thin smile gracing her lips. "As many of my students would say, I am merely. . ._postponing_."

For the first time she was able to understand why some of even her best students made a habit of procrastination. There was something very pleasant about just ignoring unpleasant work and letting it pile up. She flicked her wand at the old gargoyle, and it drifted aside, granting her access to the Headmaster's (Headmistress, now, of course) chambers. She'd really have to come up with a password, she thought.

"Good evening, Professor," all of the paintings said in chorus as she entered. McGonagall nodded back at them. It had been a bit of a chore, wheedling that degree of respect out of them, but she'd achieved it. After all, she wasn't Hogwarts first Headmistress for nothing.

"Excellent job at the memorial, Minerva," said the one portrait that she actually cared about. She turned her tired smile on the familiar face.

"Thank you, Albus," she said. "You would have done much better, of course." The portrait chuckled.

"Possible," he said finally, after having recovered from his bout of giggles. "Possible, but highly unlikely. You're one tought old bird, Minerva."

"Thanks," she said. "I suppose."

She made her way to her desk, sat down behind the well-organized surface. At least, she thought, pushing her answered letters to one side, there would be professors for the coming year. All of the professors would be returning, which was a godsend. A former student (and a very talented one, at that, Minerva remembered fondly) would be taking her former position as Transfiguration teacher, Charlie Weasley had accepted the position for Care of Magical Creatures, and two new teachers had signed up for Potions and DADA. The only question now was whether there would be students.

In theory there should have been someone else writing the letters. In theory she would be taking the time before school's start to review procedures and policies with her teachers, to review the grounds, to set up the wards. Instead here she was, fixing up hallways, sending out letters, and still in charge of restructuring.

"If anyone can do it, you can!" Dumbledore said encouragingly.

"Thank you, Albus," she murmured, not that the advice from a portrait did much good.

She could almost laugh as she went through the students names. Some of them belonged, of course. Luna Lovegood, Romilda Vane, Ginevra Weasley. It was the other names that made her laugh, the ones that could have taught classes, that hardly needed to be in school. Dean Thomas, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley. . .Harry Potter. And then, of course, there was the choice of Head Boy and Head Girl. And she was very certain that nobody would be happy with her decision for that position.

"It will all be worth it," a dreamy voice said from the doorway. Minerva's head jerked up again, seeing the frizzy hair and too large glasses. I really need to come up with a new password, she thought for the second time.

"Is that a prediction, Professor Trelawney?"

"No, no," The seer shook her mangy head, a nervous smile playing on her lips. "Or yes. But not a True Seeing. Just a seeing. A normal seeing. A see-seeing if you see what I mean."

"Yes, Professor, I think that I do," Minerva agreed. Trelawney blinked at her twice more, before nodding her head vaguely and wandering off again. Taking Trelawney's advice and just leaving things as they were (not much of a different option, anyway, was there?)

With a flick of her wand, the rest of the names were signed onto cards, and as a contingent of owls flew in, they swooped up the letters and headed out. Well, Minerva thought, that bit was easier at least.

Except that, when she turned around, there was still one owl sitting placidly on the windowsill, staring at her with its unblinking eyes.

"Well?" Minerva asked, cocking one eyebrow at it. "What are you waiting for?"

The owl hooted once, and hopped a little on its foot. It was just then that she noticed the wound piece of paper tied to its foot. "A message for me?" She asked. The owl hooted again.

She stood up, sighing at the creaking of her old bones, and walked over to the owl. Placidly it extended its leg, and the moment the paper was slid off, it hooted again, almost politely, before stretching its wings and heading out.

Minerva considered leaving the note, still tied up, on her desk and heading off to work on the hallway reservations. She had a very good idea of who had written the letter, and wasn't altogether certain that she was going to like what was written. She stared at it for a moment.

"Better answer, Minerva," Albus said, wagging his eyebrows at her. "You know he'll only send a Howler if you don't."

Acknowledging that, once again, her former Headmaster was right, she slowly undid the piece of twine. She unrolled the parchment. And, sure enough, there was Monhaighn McGonagall's ugly scrawl.

_Minnie_,

He wrote, and that put a frown on Minerva's face immediately. She absolutely hated the nickname. Minnie, like that mouse from the American pictures. Disgusting name.

_I know that you are dreadfully involved in the restructuring of Hogwarts, but I hardly think that now is the time to be abandoning and forgetting your family. The girls came home immediately after hearing that their mum had been in a battle, and the wee ones are positively beside themselves. Little Donahan can scare believe you're still breathing!_

_Besides that, you know how I am at cooking—positively dreadful, and the wee ones haven't eaten a bite in days. The girls are trying, but heaven knows they've enough to do, Flooing back and forth between work and here and spending every moment worried about you._

_And then there's me, Minnie. I'm beginning to forget whether we're even married or not. I don't see you for four months and a time, and now I haven't seen you in almost a year. Remember your vows, Minnie? It can't be me making all the efforts._

_War is a sacrifice, and I know that, love, but sometimes you can sacrifice a little of the war, too. Remember that, and remember that if you don't feed a hungry heart, it may forget how to love._

_Your adoring husband_

"What a pretty little note!" Albus gushed. McGonagall's face was deadly white, and she turned away from the headmaster, hiding her note. Had it really been a year since she'd been home? She supposed so. . .after all, she couldn't leave the children over the holidays with the Carrows around enforcing the rules, and then there had been the battle, and the restructuring. . .

And if she hadn't seen Monhaighn in a year, how long had it been since she'd seen Brigid, Calista, Mona and their children? Good heavens. . .Monhaighn had mentioned Donavan, and the last time she'd seen him he'd just been learning to speak!

It was with a trembling hand that she lay the sheaf of paper down on the table. She had to leave, but she couldn't. She owed it to her family, but she owed it to the students of Hogwarts.

"But what do you owe to yourself, Minerva?" Albus asked. Minerva pursed her lips, forming a tight line across her weathered face. Irritating man. Even in death and portrait form he was capable of Legilimacy. . .or just a greater degree of intuition than any other wizard (or man) she'd ever met.

"Minnie," he said consoling, and when she turned to face him with a tight face and a raised wand, he corrected himself with a soft "Minerva". Graciously, she allowed him to continue. "Minerva, how many people even know that you're married? Know that you have three beautiful daughters? Know that your life extends beyond these walls? Go home to them. The castle will stay for a week, even a month without your presence."

She sighed. That, right there, was precisely what she was afraid of. That the castle wouldn't stand when she left, that the walls would grumble, the ghosts grow recalcitrant, and, worst of all, Lord Voldemort returned. At least, if she remained vigilant, Hogwarts would be warned. . .

But even as she tried to convince herself with such half-founded theories, she could feel her heart weakening. She thought of Donavan's cheerful little face, of Mona's good-natured jokes, and most of all of Monhaighn's wiry arms circling her waist. Home was a blurry memory. She knew, in that instant, that she would be going home.

But before she left she had to check just one, last thing, let me know just one last

"Harry Potter has sacrificed everything for the world. I just feel like a sacrifice should be made for him, for once."

"Minerva," Albus said, and the twinkle had completely disappeared from his brush-stroke eye, replaced by a serious calm. "You have sacrificed as much, if not more, than the Boy-Who-Lived. He would want you to have some happiness. . .you know this as well as I."

Was it enough? It would have to be, Minerva realized, as a great heaviness took over her body. Suddenly she couldn't stand in the cold, stone walls any longer. She had to be home, beside her warm hearth. It would have to be enough.


	10. Six Months Later

**_Whoo, a long one this time! Well, it happens when you jump ahead. Please R&R, including letting me know which characters need some face time! I know that I still need a George chapter, plus an Andromeda/Teddy chapter, a Fleur chapter . .anybody else that I'm blatantly missing? Maybe a Narcissa chapter, I always kind of liked her. Oh, I"ve got it! WINKY!!!!!_**

**_Also, I apologize for the extreme fluffiness of this chapter and the somewhat OCness of everyone. I'm in a bit of a weird mood, I guess_**

Harry was struggling. No matter how hard he tried, he just didn't think it was possible to fit one more present into his suitcase. It just wasn't going to happen.

"You want to give me a hand here, mate?" he asked Ron. The other boy was lounging idly on his bed, scattered gifts and clothes arranged around his body and an open, empty suitcase at his feet.

"Not 'specially," Ron replied. He was idly throwing a Quaffle in the air and catching it with one hand. Harry sighed, and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He sat back on his heels to stare at his best mate.

"When are you planning on packing?" he asked. Ron shrugged and continued to focus on his ball throwing.

"Dunno," he said. "Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just stay here for holiday. Wouldn't be so bad. Some peace and quiet."

Harry rolled his eyes and resumed his attempts to force everything into the luggage. "Stop being a git and pack your stuff, Ron," he said, huffing as he now began to stomp on the bag angrily with one foot. "You. . .can't. . .avoid. . .her. . .forever!" With the last word it finally snapped closed, and with a flick of his wand the zipper flew across. With a heavy sigh he sat down on the bulging black bag.

"Reckon I could," Ron said, catching the Quaffle and sitting up. "I mean. . .we've got different classes, and she's in the girl's dorm. And s'pose she won't be invited again after Christmas. At least, I figure that Mum still likes me better."

With an abrupt popping sound, the bag flew open, spilling contents (and Harry) everywhere.

"Bugger, mate," Ron said, his eyes wide in his freckled face. "You might really need some help after all."

"Thanks," Harry said wryly, dusting off his legs and staring in dismay at all of his things. "You know what? I'll just go get Hermione. She can use that shrinking spell she used during the Horcrux search."

"Harry. . ." Ron pleaded, but Harry shook his head resolutely.

"Sorry, mate, I've tried to help you out," he said. "But it's not my fault you're so bloody thick. And besides, I'm sick of packing."

What he was really sick of, of course, was his best friend's arguments. He'd assumed that when they'd gotten together after the war. Things had seemed to be going well, they'd always been holding hands, whispering to one another, and then Ron had gone with her to Australia. But by the end of the summer the petty bickering was back, and this was already their second large blow-up.

"Hey there, Harry," Ginny greeted him as he entered the common room. She was perched comfortably in front of the fire, a small blue bag beside her. "Have you finished packing yet?"

"Hardly," he said, giving her a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "I can't get everything to fit in the suitcase. I'm going to ask Hermione for help."

"Good," Ginny nodded her head firmly. "Get her to stop moping. I don't know what my prat of a brother did this time, but it's sure got her in a fix."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. He definitely didn't know, either.

What he did know was that he was supposed to be on the way to the girls' dormitory to grab Hermione. He was supposed to finish packing. He was supposed to be on his way to the Burrow to celebrate the first free Christmas. What did he end up doing instead?

Sitting down beside his girlfriend and snogging her. Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter noted with intense satisfaction, was a good snogger in any circumstances, was was particularly skilled when her boyfriend was procrastinating.

"Oh, honestly," an annoyed voice broke them out of their. . .enjoyable enterprise, and Harry Potter found himself with a very guilty look on his face when he looked up to find his bushy-haired friend glaring down at him with crossed arms. "I hardly think your mother would find this to be a suitable reason to be late," she said.

Ginny grinned impishly. "Oh, I don't know," she said. "Mum has been going on about how she wants grandchildren."

Harry had wondered whether he was becoming more like a Weasley from all the time spent with them. As he felt a red flush take over his

face he was quite certain that he had, indeed, picked up some of their genetics.

"Now, really," Hermione said, still continuing her tirade. "I expect that you are both ready to leave. Am I right?"

"Oh, about that!" Harry said eagerly, finally remembering why he'd come down in the first place. He hurried to his feet, nearly tripping over the couch in his haste to get to his best friend. "I kind of need your help. Could you do that spell that you did when we were looking for the Horcruxes? To get everything to be smaller again?"

"Certainly, Harry," Hermione said, and Harry was relieved to see that she was looking somewhat pleased again. "What do you need it done on?"

"Just my luggage," Harry said. "It's up in the—"

But before he had a chance to finish, Hermione had turned a rather strange shade of pink, thrown her hands in the air, and started backing away.

"Oh, no," she said. "I can't go up there. It's quite against the rules and you know that. I would have to get Luna."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione, you've been up there a dozen times. . .you hardly need to get the Head Girl. . ."

But Hermione had spun around already, bushy brown hair flying everywhere. Harry turned a confused look on Ginny, who immediately thumped him with a newspaper. The pictures on the front page began complaining, and rubbing their heads.

"Really, Harry!" Ginny said in an exasperated tone. "Don't you ever think?"

"I"

"Ron's up there," Ginny shook her head. "I wish I knew what had gotten into them."

"I know," Harry said, trying not to be smug. Usually gossip ran faster in the girl's circles. . .it wasn't often that he knew something before Ginny. But then, he supposed that Hermione had always been better at keeping secrets than him.

"What?" Ginny asked, curious. Harry's smile widened even further. Idly, his he fingered the small, velvet box in his back pocket. A part of him felt guilty for having it, for what it had done to his two best friends, but the greater response was the knotting in his stomach.

_"You're going to ask her to marry you?" Hermione asked disbelievingly. Her eyes were wide and astonished, staring at the sparkling diamond. All three were gathered in the boys dormitory, Ron lounging idly against the wall, Harry standing in the center, and Hermione now balanced precariously on the edge of the bed. "Aren't you a bit young? Ron, what do you think about this?"_

_Ron shrugged, and Harry let out a long held breath. He'd been terrified that his best mate wouldn't approve, that they would once again have gotten into a long, drawn out row that ended in nothing good._

_"Good for them,"Ron said. Hermione turned to look at him in disbelief._

_"But your sister's only 17!"_

_Ron seemed to consider this for a moment. The tips of his ears began to turn pink, and Harry drew in another deep breath. "True," Ron said idly. "But still. It's going to happen eventually. And I'd rather they get married than. . .something else."_

_"Really?" Hermione sat back, and seemed to be thinking. "You think that 17 is an appropriate age to be married?" Her voice had a dangerous tone to it, now. Harry grabbed the box back and hurriedly stuffed it in the back pocket of his slacks. This was not looking good._

_"I reckon," Ron said. "I mean, Harry's already got a job with the Aurors, and I'm sure Ginny'll line something up, she's smart. My mum was married at 17."_

_Hermione seemed to consider this for a moment. "They've been dating long enough?" she asked._

_"A year, right, mate?" Ron asked, while Harry nodded. "Well, I suppose that if you know you're in love, there's no point in waiting, is there?"_

_"No point in waiting. . ."Hermione crossed her arms. Harry took a step back, but Ron still seemed to be oblivious. The girl continued, with a flat, almost angry tone to her voice. "So you're saying that if two people are of age, and have been dating for at least a year, and love each other, than they should get married?"_

_"Yes?" Ron said, and he seemed finally to realize that he was treading on dangerous ground with his girlfriend. Hermione glared at him, and Harry wouldn't be surprised to see some magicked canaries begin to fly around._

_"And why, pray tell me," she ground out between her teeth. "Would a couple who have all of those traits not get married?"_

_"Well, they're probably not really in love," Ron said reasonably. "Otherwise why hold back?"_

_Hermione seemed, at that minute, to be struggling with either irrepressible anger or tears. Harry wasn't sure which. A moment later she threw a book directly at Ron's head and dashed out the door, yelling back_

_"You are the most thick-headed, impossible idiot in the world, Ronald Bilius Weasley!" And Harry was pretty sure that he heard a sob in there somewhere, too._

* * *

The Christmas dinner was a large affair. Mrs. Weasley had obviously made it her personal goal to ensure that everyone had a reminder of what a world free of Voldemort's terror was like. Everybody was there. All of the Weasley's had made it, and half of the Hogwarts staff, courtesy of Charlie's new position. Neville, Luna, and the rest of the DA had shown up as well, along with the Order.

"Wow," Ginny said as she, Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed up. "It almost looks like we have an army massed again."

Huge tents dotted the yard of the Burrow, and though they appeared as flimsy as any used for camping, their insides were large and warm. Mrs. Weasley immediately bustled up to greet all of them.

"Harry, you're looking well," she said after giving him a large hug. She looked critically at the rest of them, before ruffling Ginny's hair. "And you look well too, sweetie."

"Hey, Mum, what am I, chopped liver?" Ron asked. Mrs. Weasley winked at him.

"Maybe so," she said. "But I like chopped liver. Hermione, dear, you've gotten far too thin. Here, have some treacle tart."

And then she was off again, a battleship in the sea of her guests, making sure everyone was fed and watered.

"Hullo there," a tiny voice said. The four students turned to see their old friend Luna, looking as spacy as ever. Her golden stare shone on her chest, and Hermione's face tightened for a moment before relaxing. Harry sighed. Poor Hermione still hadn't gotten over the snub of having been passed over for Head Girl, though she seemed to understand the reasoning behind it.

"Hey, Luna," Harry said gamely, in unison with Ginny. "How's it going?"

"All right," Luna said. "I got plus marks in Care of Magical Creatures when I was able to prove to Professor Weasley that Karumpters really do exist."

"Wicked," Ron said. "Those are the ones with knives for hands, right?"

"Hello, Harry," Neville said, coming over to stand by them. He looked a little awkward there, in his professor robes. "You're. . .erm. . .doing well in class."

"Thanks, Prof-er, Neville," Harry said, equally confused. But Ginny just rolled her eyes and gave him a big hug.

"You're doing a terrific job," she congratulated him. "McGonagall definitely chose the right person for the job."

The next hour or so of the celebration was filled with such small moments as various people came up to congratulate Harry (on what he wasn't quite sure—on Christmas? The war had been six months ago!) But when the food was ready, Mrs. Weasley promptly had everyone sitting down.

"Thank you all for coming!" she gushed. "It was such a pleasure to have you all here. . .it is such a pleasure!" Mr Weasley pulled urgently on her sleeve, and she beamed down at him. "And now my husband would like to make a toast."

"Thank you," Mr. Weasley said, clearing his throat as he stood up. With a serious expression on his face, he raised his goblet. "Firstly, to my wife, for putting this all together." A smattering of applause. "And secondly, to my daughter, Fleur, who is expecting my first grandchild in a few months," more applause, as several eyes scanned over to the beautiful woman, who now looked a bit like a beautiful hippo with her stomach. "And finally, and most importantly, to all of us here today. We are the survivors, and while it hasn't always been easy, and it hasn't been without loss, we are here today, gathered in freedom, to celebrate in joy." This time there was a large round of applause. When it had ended, Harry found himself standing.

His brain was going crazy. Why had he stood up? His stomach was rolling over itself, and he suddenly wished that he had worn stronger deodorant. All eyes swiveled to him, waiting for the Boy-Who-Lived to make a speech.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, a little awkwardly. His voice cracked somewhere in the middle. Out of all the eyes staring at him, he found three to be the most awkward. Hermione, who's gaze was so sharp he thought she might kill something. Ron, with a knowing smile on his face. And Ginny, who just looked as though she thought her boyfriend had lost his mind.

"As you said, it hasn't been easy. The was wasn't easy, the year before wasn't easy, and even these past six months haven't been easy. We've all seen sacrifice and pain, and now we're finally beginning to see hope."

Everyone nodded their agreement, though most still seemed a bit confused. Little Teddy Lupin, balanced on his grandmother's knee, was the only one who seemed unaffected as he was happily smearing mashed potatoes all over his face.

"And today, I guess I'm hoping for. . .well. . .a little more hope," and then, under his breath, "Might as well get it over with. What's the worst that can happen? World wide humiliation."

He sank to one knee, and Ginny's eyes widened. Harry had to clear his throat twice before the words would come out.

"Ginevra Weasely, you are my hope. Throughout the war, you gave me the strength to keep fighting. Ever since I've met there you've been there for me, supporting me, loving me. And now I'd like the chance to support you, to give you back all of that love, a lifetime of love. Ginny, will you marry me?"

Silence. He was certain he'd never heard anything quite so silent. Not a clock ticked. All of the watches seemed to have stopped. Was that even possible? How could something like that be possible? Not a sound, not a sound. . .

And then everything sped into fastmotion and there was red in his face, his mouth, everywhere, and strong arms clasped around his neck nad the happiest voice he'd ever heard saying "yes, yes, yes, oh yes!"

Everyone was clapping, all around them, and Harry felt several hearty claps on his back. Ginny pulled away from him a moment, her brown eyes sparkling.

"Yes?" Harry asked, still, absurdly, needing confirmation. Ginny didn't even speak this time, she just leaned toward him and kissed him full on the mouth.

* * *

"Ginny seemed happy," Hermione said. Ron nodded his head. The two had escaped from the tent together, smiling awkwardly at one another. The secret was out, and some of the tension had disappeared now that they weren't keeping it.

"Ron, I'm sorry about how I've been behaving," Hermione continued, before Ron had a chance to say anything. The wind blew softly across the Burrow, and a few gnomes giggled behind bushes. "I've been completely ridiculous, and. . ."

"Hermione," Ron interrupted her. He grabbed her roughly by the upper arm and spun her around to look at him. "I want to marry you, you know that?"

"I. . .well. . .I" she said, flustered.

"But I don't want to marry you now."

"And what does that mean?" She was confused now, and Ron was confused, and there was nothing new about _that_, that was for certain.

"It means you're going on to school to become a Healer," he said firmly. "And I'm going to Auror training which takes six months. It means that for once I'm being the smart one."

In his mind, he was being the smart one. What kind of a person asked a girl to marry him when he couldn't afford the ceremony, when he wouldn't be seeing her for a long time? What kind of a man jeopardized the chances of success for a woman he loved? Things. . ._happened_. . .after marriage. Just look at Fleur!

"So?" Hermione asked, a bit of a spark coming into her eyes. "Harry's going to Auror training. Ginny's doing. . .well. . .something."

"It's not a competition!" Ron burst out, and he knew that somewhere Draco Malfoy would be laughing to have heard that come out of his mouth. "Maybe it's right for them. That doesn't make it right for us!" He couldn't figure out when he'd become the smart one, the reasonable one. Wasn't that supposed to be her job? He suddenly found himself feeling a little angry at her for dropping the ball.

"What about what you said, Ron?" Hermione asked. "That if you love each other you get married?"

"We do get married!" Ron insisted. He pulled her closer to him, ignoring her smaller fists pounding on his chest. "But not now, not this instant. Right now you worry about your N.E.W.T.S. and I worry about those Quaffles getting past me."

"Oh, honestly, Ron," Hermione sniffed. "You should be worried about your NEWTS, too. You know they're required to get into Auror training. If you would just apply yourself?"

"Are you serious?!?" Ron burst out. They stared at each other for a moment, her hazel eyes meeting his blue ones, and then simultaneously they burst into laughter, clutching at one another to keep from falling down.

"Talking about studying. . ." Ron finally managed to get out. Hermione giggled once more.

"I suppose there are more impotant things to be worried about right now than marriage," she said. Ron hugged her tightly.

"I love you," he said. "And we will get married. But when the time is right for us, not for anyone else."

"That," Hermione said, her voice muffled against her chest. "Is the smartest thing you've ever said."

"See?" Ron said. "And you were worried about me getting all of my NEWTS. Someday people might just say that I'm the smartest wizard of my generation."

"Ron," Hermione said. "Kindly shut up." Well, Ron, thought, that was a leading line if he'd ever heard one.

"Make me," He challenged her, and a moment later, standing on her tiptoes and hugging him tightly around the neck, she did just that.


End file.
